The Christmas Rose
by SeenaC
Summary: Fluffy Christmas story about Hogan/Klink. It's Christmas 1943, and both men pause to reflect on the holiday. A tiny bit of angst, a little H/C, a little humor, and a lot of fluff. Feedback would make my Christmas bright! Slash, but no explicit content.
1. Chapter 1

The Christmas Rose

**A/N: **Hi all, this is a story that is jumping ahead a bit in my Hogan/Klink saga. The plot bunny has been bouncing impatiently for some time, and I decided to go ahead and satisfy it. I hope to achieve two goals: to reassure my readers that I'm still alive and dedicated to this project, and, to complete a story this year. I am very sorry that Real Life has taken so much out of me and left me so little energy to feed my muse. This story is NOT episode related, as are my other stories. Happy Christmas to all!

**Warnings: **This is a rather romantic story, taking place after the Hogan/Klink relationship has become established. Sexual activity is referred to, but not explicitly described. If sympathetic portrayals of same sex love bother you, this is not a story for you.

**Christmas Eve, 1943**

Hogan settled back into the pillow, loose-limbed in the haze of afterglow. He took a leisurely drag on his cigarette, and watched as the lazy curls of smoke slowly emerged from his mouth. He knew that if he turned his head, he would see his companion in a similar state of lassitude; Klink's face smooth and content, briefly free from its normal grimace of tension and worry.

Hogan didn't look, though, choosing instead to linger privately on these few moments of luxury that he allowed himself each week. For the time it took him to smoke his post-orgasmic cigarette, Hogan refused to allow himself to plot, scheme, strategize, worry, feel guilt, shame, or look any further ahead than his next puff. Those six or seven minutes were the only time he ever jealously guarded as just for himself. His time to remind himself that he was still alive, and still a human being able to give and receive pleasure and not look any further beyond.

The actual liaison with Klink had developed in pretty much the way Hogan had predicted it would. Once in Klink's bed, he was in Klink's heart, and once in Klink's heart, he was largely in Klink's confidence. Wilhelm Klink was not a man able to successfully compartmentalize when it came to sex and love.

He was still Hogan's grouchy Commandant in the office, but he grew careless about security when it came to hiding confidential materials from Hogan's reach in both the office and Klink's personal quarters. He also was getting more and more loose-lipped and overlooked more and more suspicious activity on Hogan's part.

Wordlessly, they had come to an understanding: Klink would never overtly betray his country, but he was more than willing to be the bumbling, grumpy fool Hogan needed him to be for the mission.

As for the mission, it was going quite well. The fall and winter thus far had been unseasonably mild, so the men were still in high spirits and robust health, although well aware that bitter cold could be upon them at any time. However, the next few days, with the Germans enjoying the holiday, and the weather cooperating, there was an ambitious schedule of meetings, equipment drops, and some important sabotage activity planned.

Hogan came to himself with a start, realizing his mind had drifted into upcoming missions, and his cigarette was finished.

He stubbed it out in the ashtray beside the bed, but before he could get up, Klink interrupted his thoughts.

"Happy Christmas, Hogan."

He turned and smiled at the Commandant, "Happy Christmas, Will."

Hogan had settled on "Will" for these private meetings, as "Klink" never sounded anything but harshly metallic, and could never convey any warmth.

"I know it's not much," Klink continued, slightly sheepishly, "but I do have a little surprise for you. I was able to save some money in the camp budget, and I procured a shipment of discarded, flannel undergarments for you and your men. I am sorry that they are old, but getting new ones for the men I was told was out of the question. And I know that you and some of the men have been here over a year, so the need must be great...Anyway, I know some of your men are good with the needle and can make minor repairs where needed. Worse ones can be used as rags to stop up drafts in the barracks..."

He trailed off, seemingly embarrassed.

"Will, stop! You don't have to apologize! That's incredibly thoughtful of you - to think of my men and to go to the effort to do that. The men will be very grateful for the supply. Don't say that it's not that much."

Instead of being soothed, Klink scowled, "I'm sorry to hear that you have such a low expectation of me. An honorable knight provides his worthy opponents with every courtesy he would expect for his own person. It is my duty to provide for you and the men in my care. I do what I can...I'm...I'm not a monster, Hogan."

"No, no Will, you're not a monster, and I never thought anything like that. Quite the opposite, I think you're an angel."

Hogan smiled mischievously, "A _CHRISTMAS_ angel, in fact. Bearing tidings of great joy, and _underpants_!"

"Hogan," Klink groaned.

"No, seriously, Will, I thank you from the bottom of my...bottom," Hogan finished with a laugh.

"That is a truly terrible joke, Hogan," Klink scolded, although he was smiling in spite of himself.

After a slight pause, Hogan sighed and said, "I ought to be getting back to the barracks. The men have a few Christmas Eve celebrations planned. The Glee Club is going to sing some carols..."

He trailed off, but made no move to get out of the cozy, warm bed just yet. The truth was, the idea of exposing his skin to the chilly air to get dressed was not all that appealing. In order to forestall the inevitable, he decided to prod his sometimes enigmatic companion for personal information.

"What is your favorite Christmas carol, Will?"

"Hmmm? Oh, well, it's a German song, I don't think you would know it."

Hogan had always been rather careful not to let Klink know just how well he knew the German language and culture. It was a large strategic advantage. People speak more freely in front of what they believe to be deaf ears.

"I don't care," protested Hogan, "please, sing it for me? You have a lovely voice, I'd love to hear it!"

Klink blushed slightly, but couldn't resist Hogan or his flattery. He cleared his throat and began in his soft, warm tenor:

Es ist ein Ros entsprungen,

aus einer Wurzel zart,

wie uns die Alten sungen,

Und hat ein Blümlein bracht

mitten im kalten Winter,

wohl zu der halben Nacht.

Das Blümelein, so kleine,

das duftet uns so süß,

mit seinem hellen Scheine

vertreibt's die Finsternis.

Wahr Mensch und wahrer Gott,

hilft uns aus allem Leide,

rettet von Sünd und Tod.

Klink's voice grew quiet on the last line, and Hogan found himself unexpectedly moved by both the haunting melody and the sentiments in the words.

After some seconds silence, Hogan cleared his throat and said, "I recognize the tune. We sing a carol in English that begins 'Lo, how a rose e'er blooming,' I imagine it's the same song."

"Yes," Klink replied. "We would sing that, and other songs as we decorated the tree on Christmas Eve..."

"Oh Hogan," he blurted brokenly, "what will remain - good - of Germany...of my people...after this is over?"

Hogan swallowed, "I don't know, Will. I know that YOU are good, I wouldn't be here if you weren't."

Hogan stopped suddenly, realizing the truth of what he'd just uttered, even though he'd always tried to remember that Klink was the enemy. OK, that was going to be a problem, but he needed to set that aside and deal with it later.

Hogan took a deep breath and continued, "I believe that there are many good people in Germany, maybe even most of them. I don't know. All I know is that what is currently going on with Hitler and his gang has to be stopped. I know that you have taken oaths as a soldier that prevent you from acting against his crazy regime, and I understand why you feel that as a man of honor you can't break them, even as I disagree with that decision. But, believe me when I say, I hope that I will be with you to see Germany free of Hitler, and that you'll remember that Germany will need good people like you to rebuild, after it's over."

There was a long pause, as the two men looked at each other, so close, two bodies almost intertwined, and so far, with so many words and secrets dividing them.

Hogan finally clasped Klink's hand and threaded their fingers together, "It's not over, yet, Will. Though I pray to God it will be soon. All things are still possible. Never lose hope."

It was enough. They smiled, unclasped their hands, and Hogan made his way back to his men.

**A/N: ** There will be one more chapter. I will post it sometime in the next day or so.

Here is a literal translation of Klink's carol:

A rose has sprung up,

from a tender root.

As the old ones sang to us,

Its lineage was from Jesse.

And it has brought forth a floweret

In the middle of the cold winter

Well at half the night.

The floweret, so small

That smells so sweet to us

With its clear light

Dispels the darkness.

True man and true God!

He helps us from all trouble,

Saves us from sin and death.

(the phrasing in the English carol is a bit different, to maintain a more poetic feel)

Feedback is, as always, so much appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

The Christmas Rose - 2

**Christmas Day, 1943**

The next day was fair and relatively warm, yet again. The men who had been out overnight retired thankfully to their beds after morning roll call, and the day shift drifted out in stages to complete their missions.

In light of the lax security the night crew had (not) encountered, even Kinch was going out with Hogan this morning. Hogan knew that he'd be eager to stretch his legs outside the wire. Hogan always took the time to make all of his men aware of how each of them was crucial to their mission, but he knew that Kinch chafed under having to stay inside the camp when so often his comrades were out, facing danger. On an intellectual level, everyone was aware that one capture could end with all of them being executed, but that was hard to remember when so often you were the one left waiting for the others' safe return.

Hogan was glad this opportunity had come up, for both Kinch and for himself. They were on their way to a deserted farmhouse to meet with a known member of the Underground, who was bringing along a new volunteer. Hogan valued Kinch's extraordinary ability to read people and assess their character quickly, he wanted to get Kinch's opinion on this person.

Along with the new person, the Underground contact would likely have new intelligence, and also some much-needed supplies for he and Kinch to bring back to the camp. Later tonight would be the bigger acts of mischief: there was a nearby bridge whose hours were numbered, a local munitions dump that would be partially looted, then destroyed, and if everything went according to plan with London, a factory in Düsseldorf would cease operations - permanently.

There had been discussions over whether so many operations in one night might bring a lot of grumpy Gestapo hot-foot into the area to investigate, but the final decision was to grab opportunities whenever they presented themselves, in the hope that every successful operation hastened the end of the war.

So Hogan and Kinch walked through the forest, toward the farmhouse, relishing the beautiful day, the smell of the pines, the whisper of the breeze, and the dappled sunlight as it created intricate patterns on the bed of needles and earth, knowing that this may be the last outing they ever took under free will.

The meeting with the Underground went smoothly, in the dusky, dusty farmhouse kitchen, long since swept bare of anything useful. Information was exchanged, and Hogan and Kinch received backpacks of ammunition, tools, spare radio parts, and other materials.

As the meeting was about to break up, the senior Underground agent brought out a burlap sack.

"We took up a collection, all of us. We wanted to give you something for _Weihnachten_."

Hogan looked into the bag and found a large collection of foodstuffs: hunks of cheese, assorted sausages, and a good supply of potatoes. The bag felt to be around 20 pounds.

Hogan was stunned.

"How on earth did you get so much food? How can you possibly spare us this much? Surely you must be going hungry yourselves to give this much away! We cannot possibly take this from you!"

The Underground agents shook their heads and the new one spoke, "We owe you more than we can possibly give! It is you who give us hope of a future, something to live for. Please, take it, for your men, for all that you do."

"Besides," chimed in the other man, "we have freedom to forage, bargain, and steal. You are confined to the generosity of the Reich." Here he stopped and spat. "We all gave, willingly, joyfully."

Hogan and Kinch exchanged a look and then turned back to their benefactors. Hogan opened his mouth, but for once, nothing came out.

"We thank you, most kindly," Kinch said, while Hogan recovered his wits, "trust me, your gifts will not be wasted!"

The meeting over, the two Underground agents slipped out the front door, while Hogan and Kinch watched them safely away from inside the house.

After waiting about 20 minutes, and hearing no uproar, Hogan and Kinch then went out the kitchen door, and around the south side of the farmhouse. Hogan waited by the house with the heavy sack of food while Kinch slipped briefly into the forest for a quick scout of their route back to camp.

While he waited Hogan gazed idly at the huge, climbing rose bush that dominated the south wall of the house. It reminded him of the one at his parents' house, planted by his father for his mother on their first wedding anniversary. It was now large, after so many years, but still couldn't challenge this grandfather of a tree. The one back at home provided armfuls of deep, red, heavily scented roses all though the summer months. Hogan wondered what color the blossoms of this plant were.

Because of the unseasonable warmth, the bush was still green and leafy, although by spring it would be mostly bare, the leaves nipped by frost and blown off by the cold winds.

Thinking these thoughts made Hogan feel a bit melancholy and homesick. He wondered who had planted this tree, and where were they now? The tree was big enough that it could withstand the winter alone, but would do better with care.

Suddenly, a gleam of brightness from within the bush caught Hogan's eye. He moved closer to the bush, then reached carefully in, avoiding thorny branches to seek out what had attracted his attention.

As he parted more of the leaves, it came fully into view, a white rosebud. It was very small, less than a quarter the size the bush surely produced at the height of summer. It nodded to Hogan from the end of a spindly stem, a dwarfed offspring due to cold, but perfectly formed and pure white.

Before Hogan really understood his reasoning, he had his knife out and carefully cut the bud, along with its long stem. It was silly, he thought to himself, but he couldn't bear to think of this tiny miracle blooming and fading with no witness to see and appreciate its improbable existence.

"All clear, Colonel," came Kinch's voice, right by his ear. Hogan nearly jumped, and felt his face heat guiltily as he tucked the bud carefully into his jacket, under Kinch's curious gaze.

"Thanks, Kinch. Let's get back to camp, shall we?"

Kinch nodded, making no remark about Hogan's sudden interest in botany. Hogan once again thanked Kinch silently for his uncanny ability to know when to ask, and when not to ask questions.

They took turns carrying the heavy burlap sack, Hogan always careful not to crush the precious cargo he carried within his jacket. All the way home, Klink's carol from the night before seemed to echo in his mind.

They reached the stump, climbing down the ladder and carefully handing off the valuable bag of food. Hogan instructed Carter to sort and weigh the contents, and divide them equally amongst the barracks, keeping out a few of the sausages for LeBeau to make into a hearty dish in case someone became ill and needed extra nourishment. They knew from the previous winter that sausages could keep very well in the chilly tunnels.

Hogan then shrugged off his backpack, handing it to Kinch with instructions to sort all the supplies and store them away.

"Where's Klink?" he asked Newkirk and LeBeau when that was settled. They were on duty to monitor the Commandant, in case he took it into his head to do anything of interest while Hogan was gone.

"The crazy Kraut's in 'is office!" replied Newkirk, "seems 'e's such a sad sack 'e got nothin' better to do on Christmas than more paperwork! Blimey! I think I'd kill meself if I were that 'ard up!"

Hogan smiled, "Well, we don't all of us have the warm-hearted Newkirk clan to fill up our holiday time! If he's in his office I'm going to slip through the tunnel to his quarters."

"What for, Colonel?" asked LeBeau, "Did the Underground give you information on something to look for?"

"No, let's just say, I have a Christmas surprise for him," Hogan replied with a cunning smile.

"Ohhhhh," Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau all chimed, clearly thinking Hogan intended something to the Commandant's detriment and embarrassment.

Kinch remained silent, gazing at Hogan intently...almost knowingly. Hogan quickly turned away and headed down the tunnel to Klink's quarters. When he had begun his seduction of Klink, he figured it would only be a matter of time before Kinch would somehow figure it out. He was not only the most perceptive of the core group, but also worked the closest with Hogan, and could make easy note of Hogan's comings and goings.

If Kinch ever decided to confront Hogan about it, that would certainly be an uncomfortable talk, but he was sure Kinch could be trusted not to spread the news any further.

Once inside Klink's quarters, he rooted quickly through the kitchen to find a small vase for the rosebud. Once he had located one, put the bud in water, he carefully set the vase on the bedside table.

Hogan crept back into the tunnel, smiling to himself. Klink would be stunned, but know it had to be from him. He would privately scold him, demand to know where the secret tunnel into his quarters was (Hogan always denied its existence, and Klink never searched for it), and threaten Hogan with time in the cooler if he was ever caught where he shouldn't be. And all the while his blue eyes would be sparkling in delight over Hogan's gift.

All in all, it wasn't shaping up to be all that bad of a Christmas, all things considered.

The End

**A/N:** Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts. I just want to add a quick personal note. My readers will notice that I haven't been around much. I've had some challenges, which have significantly cut down on my ability to write. As sort of a culmination of everything, I recently got some very serious health news. I'm awaiting more information from my doctor before actually panicking. Anyway, I only mention this because I have to confess that my writing time may remain limited for the foreseeable future. And, please, take the time to tell your loved ones how much they mean to you. Because, even without wartime circumstances (like Hogan's Heroes) you never know what tomorrow will bring. If you don't tell the people you love that you love and cherish them today, tomorrow might be too late.


End file.
